


Too Much, Too Late

by The9thDoctor



Category: Bandom, My Chemical Romance
Genre: Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-31
Updated: 2011-10-31
Packaged: 2017-10-25 03:02:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,641
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/271013
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The9thDoctor/pseuds/The9thDoctor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Ray says something he regrets, but his attempts at damage control are frankly ridiculous.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. In which Ray says something he regrets, but his attempts at damage control are frankly ridiculous.

**Author's Note:**

> Written so long ago Bob Bryar was still part of the band and set on one of those tours that only ever exist in fanfic. Supremely ridiculous, but hopefully still funny.

It really had seemed like a perfectly good idea at the time, however stupid that sounds now. Ray knows that that wasn't exactly an excuse, but in the light of things, it almost made him feel better.

Mind you, feeling slightly better about such a monumental fuck-up was really not all that useful. Of course, repeatedly hitting his head on the tour bus kitchen table wasn't helping AT ALL, but since most other alternatives would involve seeing Bob (which was REALLY not a good idea) he opted for concussion instead. 

At least that way he wouldn't have to be quite so... awake for what was bound to happen.

Ray had wondered briefly if Bob would believe that Ray suffered from multiple personality disorder and that the person who had just told him he had an absolutely gorgeous ass was actually 'Shirley' (the personality of a 21 year old blonde air-hostess from Seattle, Ray had gone so far to decide), who had temporarily assumed control of Ray's otherwise totally-straight-thank-you-very-much body. Somehow Ray doubted it. 

Of all the stupid things to say. What on earth had possessed him? 

Unfortunately, Ray knew exactly what had possessed him - the undeniable fact that Bob really, really did have a fabulous ass.

Pausing briefly in his determined attempt to achieve unconsciousness, Ray tried to work out if the small kitchen window would be large enough for him to climb through. Maybe if he raided Gerard and Frank's make-up box, he could disguise himself, escape through the window, make his way stealthily out of the festival campsite and across the border to start a new life for himself in Canada. 

Ray then wondered if you needed any formal qualifications to be a Lumberjack, but that was no help because now he had that stupid fucking Monty Python song stuck in his head.

And anyway, the window didn't actually open. 

Maybe there was some way the tech guys could rig up a system that meant Ray could play the gig from the safety of the kitchen. If someone could fetch his guitar, surely all he needed were some wires. Some REALLY long wires... 

Okay, so maybe the fans would be confused, but if he could convince Gerard that he'd suddenly developed acute agoraphobia like, overnight, then they'd understand. Right?

Ray mentally ran through his list of options. Concussion was out of the question - far too painful - and escape seemed impossible. Hiding in the tour bus kitchen for the rest of his life was bound to develop some kind of drawbacks sooner or later and faking mental illness didn't seem very workable either. After all, he was on tour with Pete Wentz and Brendon Urie, and Ray didn't think he'd be able to get away with it.

Okay then, what else is there?

Perhaps he could stage some kind of elaborate accident - stand too close to Frankie as he twirled his guitar, get a bang on the head and fake amnesia. 'No Bob, I have absolutely NO idea what you're talking about...'  
Scratch that one, too many variables for comfort. It would hurt like hell, be really fucking embarrassing, could actually give him amnesia for real and anyway, he'd still have to see Bob before the show, so THAT didn't solve anything. 

Was there a hitherto unknown form of Tourette's that could make you randomly compliment other guys on their butts? Ray didn't think so, and anyway, to keep up that charade he'd have to do it like, all the time, and he really didn't think he could do that. Half the guys on the tour didn't need their egos inflated anymore than they were already, and the other half... Well, Ray wasn't exactly sure that saying suggestively homosexual things with regards to Avenged Sevenfold's asses was something he could get away with, at least not with all his major body parts still attached. He quite liked his legs where they were, thank you very much, and there was no way in hell he'd ever be shorter than Frankie.

Christ, this was hard... Couldn't he try to convince Bob that he'd done it for a bet? Who on this tour would conceivably come up with an idea like that? Ray could think of several - Gabe, Travis and fucking Beckett for starters, but since they had only arrived that morning the timing would be tricky. Not even Will would issue that sort of dare at a comparatively sober 1pm. Besides, Ray had never accepted those sort of bets before in his life - not even after that all-nighter with Gerard and Bert. Why would he start now?

No, there was only one thing for it. He would just have to drug Bob to hell and then convince him the whole thing had been a hallucination. No-one else had overheard him after all, so there would be no evidence to the contrary. 

Yup, that was the ticket. Ray was sure that Joe or Bert would be able to dig up some acid from somewhere, then he could just somehow slip it to Bob when he wasn't looking. After that there was just the simple matter of locking him on the bus and keeping everyone else away from him and convincing either Andy or Spencer to cover the drumming on the set. 

And then blame someone else. 

Pete Wentz, possibly. 

Easy. 

Ray was just about to call Bert when the door to the bus opened and Bob walked in. Ray froze, cell phone in hand, wishing he had gotten slightly further with that whole unconsciousness plan. 

Bob, however, just smiled at Ray - a perfectly normal 'hello fellow bandmate, whom I'm sure has never had any perverted fantasies about areas of my anatomy' smile - and went to fetch a glass of juice. 

Ray still didn't move, utterly stuck between fight or flight. Was it possible that Bob had developed temporary amnesia without Ray's help? He hadn't heard Frankie practicing anywhere outside, but there were other ways. What if he'd been hit by Ryan and Jon's Frisbee, or fallen down stairs, or had just blocked the whole incident out from shock? 

What would happen if he got his memory back? Knowing Ray's luck it would probably happen somewhere really embarrassing - Halfway through Mikey's wedding, or during the VMA's, or during their fucking acceptance speech at the VMA's... 

Bob didn't seem to notice Ray's inner turmoil. He just drank his juice, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, put the glass in the sink and headed towards the door again.

He paused in the doorway though and turned back to Ray, who was yet to move a single inch.

"You know, Ray," he said, cheerfully, "Your ass is pretty fucking fantastic too..."

The slam of the door behind Bob perfectly coincided with the loud crash of Ray's cell phone hitting the kitchen floor. 


	2. In which, while Ray is plotting his escape, Bob finds that most people are REALLY no help at all.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which, while Ray is plotting his escape, Bob finds that most people are REALLY no help at all.

To say that Bob had been surprised would be quite an understatement. There he was, minding his own business, quietly moving some boxes of gear around when he heard Ray sigh dreamily and say, "You know, you have a totally amazing ass..."

Which had been swiftly followed by the sort of panicked squeak that Bob had only previously associated with Ryan Ross, and the sound of running footsteps. 

After spending an utterly fruitless five minutes trying to stare at his own butt without the aid of a mirror, because, ya' know SOMETHING must be wrong with it, he shrugs and heads over to where Gerard, Mikey and Frank are sitting. 

"I think I've just been complimented on my superior buttocks..." Bob announces, only slightly proudly.

"That's nice..." says Gerard, never taking his eyes off of Bert, who was attempting to fly a kite while drunk. 

"Turn round, I wanna see." adds Frank.

Bob did as he was told, peering back at them over his shoulder. 

"Who by?" asks Mikey.

"Well... Umm... Ray, actually..."

"Ray's right." says Frank, with the air of a true connoisseur.

"Uh, thanks... I think."

Frank just waves his hand regally. 

"Could you just clear something up for me though... Why the fuck has Ray suddenly taken an interest in ogling my ass?"

"Oh, it's not sudden. He's been doing it for AGES."

"While I realize that you're only trying to help, Frankie, you have to admit that was a fucking shite attempt. WHY has Ray been checking out my ass?!"

Gerard shrugged. "Well, dude, he's only fancied you since like, forever."

"Gee, what have I told you about talking like a Valley girl?" admonished Mikey. Gerard just rolled his eyes. 

"Umm... Have you guys been hanging out with Trohman again? I'm talking about Ray. You know, big hair,   
about this tall. In our fucking band?"

"Yeah, that Ray." agrees Gerard. "You mean you didn't notice? Jesus, the whole fucking TOUR knows. It's epic. Seriously."

Bob grinds his teeth in an effort to stay civil. "What. The. Fuck?" he asks succinctly.

Frank pokes him in the chest. "Ray wants your hot percussionist ass. How dumb do you have to be?"

"Why didn't you TELL me?" Bob wails.

"We thought you knew, and were playing all 'hard to get' and shit..."

It's around this point that Bob gives up on his bandmates and tries to find someone else to talk to. 

To be honest with himself, he never really expected Pete to be much use, and true to form Pete just flashes him an enormous shit-eating grin and doubles up with laughter when he realizes that Bob really hadn't noticed anything going on. Then, after he finally catches his breath, he threatens to write a song about it. 

Ryan and Brendon just lean on each other and look faintly puzzled. They do, however, ask Bob how he feels about the idea of Ray liking him *that way*, both sounding worryingly sincere. Since Bob hasn't actually worked this out for himself yet, this actually has the effect of making Bob scuttle off to find someone less well versed in psychoanalysis.

Beckett isn't all that much help either. Like Frankie he makes Bob turn round so he can check the veracity of Ray's statement for himself. Unlike Frank however, he makes doubly sure by grabbing a handful and giving it a damn good squeeze.

Joe and Jon both offer him a joint, which kinda helps. 

Thinking about it later, Joe and Jon are probably the main reasons that he doesn't actually talk about Ray at all when he bumps into Spencer, and spends a faintly bizarre (well, for Spencer, at least,) 20 minutes talking about Rick Allen. Spencer yesses in all the appropriate fellow-drummer places and excuses himself before Bob can start on about Keith Moon.

When he catches up with Gabe and Travis, he isn't entirely sure what they're doing with the keys to Avenged Sevenfold's bus, but they seem to be having a lot of fun trying to unlock it. Bob tries bringing Ray into the conversation, but Travis starts complaining about Ray's hair and how it's just not fair that he can get it like that - so much so that he can't bring the point back to the idea that Ray has been watching his ass for apparently YEARS and so far nobody has bothered telling Bob. He leaves them to do whatever, feeling almost sorry for Matt Sanders for the first time in his life.

Bob then spends a while wondering if there is actually any one sane, sober or just fucking normal anywhere on this tour. Which is probably why when he spots Patrick and Andy sharing a soda in the shade of their bus and discussing Shakespeare, Bob races over to them, desperate for anyone who won't laugh or molest him. 

"Ray has been checking out my ass." he says, by way of introduction. 

"Oh, finally noticed, have you?" replies Patrick, squinting up at him.

"What am I gonna do!? He *likes* me!" Bob wails, feeling faintly embarrassed. He was certain that tough rock drummers heading towards 30 shouldn't 'wail' anything, especially things that would be best uttered by a pubescent girl, or members of Panic! at the Disco. 

"Well, that all depends on how you feel about Ray, doesn't it?" interjects Andy.

Bob blinks at him. "I hadn't really thought about it. I'm still at the 'whatthefuck?' stage."

"I'd tell him something nice back." says Patrick, serenely. "He's probably gone all angsty."

"Right... Okay. Any ideas?"

It turns out that neither Patrick or Andy have any ideas, or at least not ones that go beyond Shakespearian sonnets, which is probably going a little too far.

In the end, Bob's quite pleased with his strategy. 


	3. In which both Ray and Bob discover just how embarrassing their friends are. (And how Gabe makes his money.)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which both Ray and Bob discover just how embarrassing their friends are. (And how Gabe makes his money.)

"Bob's just told me he likes my butt!" Ray shrieked. 

After sitting at the kitchen table for several moments, staring after Bob, he had run straight outside to find Gerard, Mikey and Frank. However, his announcement didn't quite have the effect he was after.

"Fucking hell, not this AGAIN." sighed Gerard without even looking up.

"I'm bored by this already." agreed Mikey. "Can't we talk about something else?"

"Well, Andy Hurley has this huge thing for M. Shadows..." piped up Frankie. Everyone turned to stare at him. 

"WHAT!?" 

"No, not really. But wouldn't it be fucking weird if he did?" 

All four of them tried to imagine this. It didn't work very well, but Mikey turned an interesting shade of green. 

Ray shook his head slightly, trying to get the strangely arousing image out of his mind, before remembering why he was there. 

"So, I was just sitting in the bus, thinking about... stuff, when Bob came and told me I had a nice ass."

"Well, to be fair, you did tell him that first." Mikey pointed out.

"He TOLD you!?" Ray squealed. 

"Dude, lower the pitch please... You're heading to where only dogs and Brendon can hear you." 

Ray coughed, "He *told* you?" he repeated in a bass growl.

"Yeah, he told us. We were surprised he hadn't noticed before, really." said Frank, innocently.

"I can't believe he told you... Wait a moment, what do you mean - 'surprised he hadn't noticed before'? Before what?"

"You know, all those other times you've been making googly eyes at him."

Ray was indignant. "I do not make *googly* eyes at anyone!"

"Apart from Bob." added Gerard, smugly.

-*-

"What did he say then?" asked Patrick when Bob came back.

"Umm... Nothing, actually. He just sort of looked at me. Are you SURE he likes me? I mean, what if I only *thought* he said I had an amazing ass, what if he said some thing else? What if I've just made a total cock of myself? Ray will think I'm just a total pervert who likes looking at people's asses!"

"What even *sounds* like 'amazing ass'?" pondered Andy.

"Not the point here, Hurley... And yes, I'm sure he likes you. We've known for ages."

"How do you know? Did he actually tell you? Like turn up on your bus one day and go 'hey you guys, you know Bob? I wanna do bad things to him'?"

Andy scoffs, "Do you have any idea how many songs Pete would have written about that by now if he had?"

"Everyone knows. It's common knowledge. Gabe is even running a book on the two of you getting it on before the tour is out. In fact, we may all owe him money if you quit being such a pussy." continues Patrick. 

"Oh great... I am the laughing stock of an entire fucking festival, and to make matters even worse, the festival also includes people who have posted pictures of their dick on the internet. Even *Wentz* is mocking me. Kill me now..."

"I'm not killing you, that would be unethical." sniffs Andy, sounding quite hurt.

"Why don't you just *ask* him? Only, can you do it now, 'cos if you wait until tomorrow we all have to give Beckett twenty bucks instead, and I don't think I could cope with him being smug about it for the next two months." says Patrick, opening his book again. 

Bob opened and closed his mouth several times, unsure of what to say next.

"Oh, get over yourself and just GO already." muttered Andy, lying back in the grass.

-*-

"You're telling me that Gabe is taking bets on me?" Ray gaped at Mikey. "Does EVERYONE know?"

Mikey thought for a moment. "Well, I'm not too sure about Bert, but there's always a possibility that Bert is still unaware of which century he lives in."

"You've been *really* obvious." said Frank, happily. "It's been great fun to watch."

"So he's known all this time, and done nothing? He hates me. That's it, I'm going to become a Lumberjack. Called Shirley. Goodbye, it's been nice working with you all..." Ray stood up, and disappeared round the end of the bus, only to walk straight into Bob coming the other way.

-*-

Bob headed back to the bus, trying to practice things to say. 

So far he had decided against, in no particular order:

'Hey baby, wanna earn Gabe $300?'

'Get your coat, you've pulled!'

and, 'I've lost my virginity, can I have yours?'

So it was a bit of a relief when the first thing he actually said to Ray was "Owie..."


	4. In which Ray and Bob decide to move to Canada, thanks to Patrick.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Ray and Bob decide to move to Canada, thanks to Patrick.

Any last belief Ray may have had in a higher power vanished when the ground completely failed to swallow him whole. 

Mind you, at least Bob didn't shame him further by producing a devastatingly witty line, he just sat on the ground holding his elbow and said "Owie." like a five-year old. Or Brendon Urie. 

Ray wondered if Bob would notice him running away. Then he wondered if Bob would like him to kiss it better. This thought was followed hot on the heels by 'I wonder if Bob hurt his ass when he fell over? I could kiss *that* better too...'

At which point Ray's higher brain functions resumed control and he stuck out a hand to help Bob up. 

Bob grasped his hand gingerly, as though he was somehow afraid that Ray had secreted a fake hand up his sleeve as a joke. 

"Umm... Hi?" said Bob finally, scratching the back of his neck self-consciously. 

"Hi."

So far, so good. Come on Ray, you can do this. "So, you've been talking to Frankie then?" that's it, nice neutral territory... You can do this. 

"Uh-huh... And you have as well, I take it?" 

"Yup... Good ol' Frankie, eh?"

Bob nodded, and a reign of embarrassed silence descended. 

It was finally broken when Ray said "I'm going to Canada." at exactly the same time as Bob said "Patrick made me do it."

Bob blinked. "Canada?" 

"What did Patrick make you do?" asked Ray suspiciously. The last time anyone from Fall Out Boy had gotten someone to do something, Ryan Ross had worn nothing but a pair of speedos for the entire day. Pete Wentz had a lot to answer for. 

"Why the fuck are you moving to Canada?" 

"I... I don't know?" 

"You don't know why you're moving to Canada?" Bob was confused. "Anyway, Patrick *made* me tell you that."

"Patrick made you tell me that I don't know why I'm moving to Canada? How does he know?"

"Look, Ray, can we start again? My brain hurts."

"That would probably be for the best. We should probably move slightly further away, too. Jon's over there, and he's got a *camera*"

They moved slightly further away from the main area of the camp, Bob was still rubbing his elbow. 

"So, what has Patrick done?" asked Ray. 

"Well, he, uh, kinda told me to... umm... tellyouthatyouhadafantasticass." Bob mumbled. 

"Riigghht... And so you're just doing whatever Patrick Stump tells you to now?" replied Ray, crossing his arms. 

"No!" shouted Bob, "No, I'm not. Originally he said I should recite Shakespeare. Well, actually first off, Frankie said you were right, and Gerard told me I was an idiot. Then Pete laughed at me, and Ryan and Brendon *asked* me things and then Beckett grabbed my ass so I found Joe and Jon. Which was a bad idea, because Spence didn't say anything and oh yeah, Travis doesn't like your hair... THEN Patrick told me to recite Shakespeare."

"I see..." said Ray, who didn't really. 

"I meant it..." muttered Bob, meekly. "So why ARE you moving to Canada? Is it because of me?"

"Yes... I mean, no... Hang on... Did you just say you *meant* it?" 

"Well, yeah, I did... That is, as long as you meant it first, 'cos if you didn't then I was totally joking." Bob backtracked.

"Um, no... I meant it too. I'm really sorry, but you know how it is, you were bent over in those tight jeans and it just sort of slipped out."

Bob raised an amused eyebrow. "Ah. I was wondering." he said, taking a small step closer to Ray.

Ray just grinned. 

"Ray? Can I come to Canada with you?"

"Of course you can. You'd probably make a better Lumberjack than me anyway..."

-*-

Afterwards they were only disturbed twice. Once by Gabe and Travis, who ran past them very, very fast. That was probably something to do with the fact they were being chased by a very angry looking M. Shadows, who was wielding a baseball bat and yelling some thing that sounded suspiciously like "In my fucking bunk, as well, you assholes!"

This made Bob laugh so hard that Ray was forced to find new and inventive ways of shutting him up.

Later on, Bert tripped over them. 

He looked at them blearily for a while, and then asked "What the fuck are you guys doing out here?"

Ray had no hesitation in telling him, "We're moving to Canada, what does it look like?"

"It looks like you haven't gotten very far..." Bert pointed out. 

"Oh, I wouldn't know about *that*" replied Bob, with a smug grin. 


End file.
